


Tradtion

by afternoon_softea



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aggressively Bi, Christmas Fluff, He tried he really really did, I left him out oops, Keith can't cook, Klance Secret Santa 2016, Lance Saves The Day, M/M, Mistletoe shenanigans, Modern AU, Neighbours AU, and is, bye, christmas cooking, klance, shiro who
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 03:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9053809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afternoon_softea/pseuds/afternoon_softea
Summary: Lance's favourite Christmas decoration was in place but as far as he knew, it wouldn't be used even once that evening - but again, that was only as far as he knew.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ermmmm so this is the first thing I've ever complteed fanfic wise and,,,,, I JUST REALLY HOPE THE LOVELY I GOT LIKES IT (are we allowed to say names on the thing or???) AND IF OTHER PEOPLE DO TOO I"D BE REALLY HAPPY
> 
> but ya this is p much mindless fluff but idk it's fun, it's cute, and it's lame as all heck - so please enjoy and merry holidays!!

Lance hopped off a step-stool grinning ear to ear. It was definitely his best plan yet, no doubt. The most essential decoration to any Christmas was now dangling conspicuously atop his door frame, ready for the moment its services were required. An ugly snort sounded behind him, and he glanced around to find Pidge staring incredulously at his décor.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Lance’s smile stretched far too wide, “Are you ready for the event of the evening?”

“Lord, no. Especially if it involves that tacky thing.”

“Tacky? Dear Pidge, this is the finest mistletoe you’ll ever lay your eyes on. And it’s the exact lil’ item that’s gonna earn me a kiss from our princess.”

Pidge rolled her eyes, “Ya know, maybe your scheme _will_ work, Lance. Since mistletoe is just like you.”

“Stunning, and a frequent maker of memorable holidays?”

“A parasite.”

“Hey! I’m nothing like that!”

“You’ve barely done anything to help decorate, you haven’t even cooked yet,” Pidge remarked, idly wiping down her glasses, “plus, you said you don’t even like Allura anymore. She probably wouldn’t mind a break from your antics tonight, you know.”

Lance sauntered over to Pidge and placed his hand upon her shoulder, outwardly smug, although he internally agreed, “It’s a Christmas tradition, Pidge, it has to be upheld.”

“Which tradition is this?” an accented voice questioned, incidentally disrupting their argument with natural grace. Allura strode through the open doorway and lent down to hug Pidge with a smile, Coran just behind her slapping Lance on the back as a way of greeting. He found himself groaning, not only because of the sheer force of Coran’s strike but also, he realised sourly, because he had totally missed the chance to enforce the unbreakable law of the mistletoe.

Pidge burst into laughter, seeming to want tease Lance about his failed mission but her breath kept cutting short. The two new arrivals looked on with suspicion until their attention was caught by a man behind Pidge.

“Hey guys! Didn’t get lost, did you?” Hunk asked warmly, removing a food-stained apron before moving in for a hug of his own.

“Not at all!” Allura grinned, “It’s a lovely place, I wish we’d visited sooner. Although it smells really rather awful outside.”

“Huh?” grunted Lance, returning back to the entry and sticking his head out into the hallway. Before he’d taken a full breath something severely burnt engulfed his senses. The Cuban’s face contorted and he hastily squeezed his nose shut, “What the _quiznak_ is that?”

Allura cringed and lightly massaged her forehead, “Really, Lance, please stop using that word.”

Lance heard Pidge asking about the origins of ‘quiznak’ as he left the apartment and crossed to the next door over, where the smell was strongest. He knocked quickly and loud enough that he would surely be heard over the newly blaring smoke alarm. The door remained shut but he was pretty sure someone swore lowly.

The alarm wasn’t letting up and Lance was running out of oxygen. He pounded on the door as hard as he could once more, while inhaling as much tainted air as possible in preparation to properly announce his presence. “Hey! Are you-“

The door swung wide with such ferocity Lance became ever so glad it had to be pulled into the apartment to open, rather than burst out and smack him square in the face.

“ _What_ do you _want_?!” the resident practically growled. How did he forget Mullet Boy lived here?

As far as Lance could tell, the guy was rude, brash, and could _really_ hold a grudge. So, what, Lance accidently spilled boiling coffee on the entirety of his back _one time_ , what’s the deal? Besides, if Mullet hadn’t dropped his keys, hadn’t decided to retrieve them with his hands, and hadn’t then kept his legs straight through whole process so he was on full display in damn bike shorts while Lance was walking by then Lance wouldn’t have stumbled and none of it would have happened!

“Well?” and Lance realised he’d just been staring. The alarm had been shut off too, and from what Lance could see through the haze it seemed to have been done so violently.

“What did you even _do_ in here? Set your table on fire?”

The scowl in the other’s face deepened, before he sighed deeply and went back into the hazardous apartment. Lance paused, wondering if that was a silent invitation or a signal to leave. Almost immediately his curiosity was too much and he strode into the ever so slowly fading smoke. The apartment layout was identical to his own, so Lance checked rooms on his way through until he found Mullet jerking open a kitchen window.

“Your table didn’t actually catch alight, did it?”

Mullet’s attention snapped towards him so quickly Lance let out an unnerved yelp. Before he could regain any footing from the embarrassing reaction he was being asked, “The hell are you doing in my house?”

Lance coughed briefly then crossed his arms, smirking lightly, “If you’re setting furniture on fire I figured you would probably need some help.”

“You want to help burn my table?” the other asked, expression shifting into one of pure disbelief.

“What? No! Help getting water on it, or something that would _stop_ the flames!”

“Whatever, you can leave if that was all because I wasn’t burning anything.”

“Really?” Lance raised an eyebrow, attempting to recreate the ‘doubting’ look better than Mullet somehow had, “Because it smells like someone’s being tried for witchcraft in here.”

Lance noticed the scowl grace his profile once more before he turned away to open a second window. “Don’t you mean ‘charged’? A trial is different to an execution.”

Lance felt heat trickle into his cheeks and let the blame fall upon the remaining humidity over any form of embarrassment. This man who was, admittedly, somehow pulling off a mullet, was a jerk, but acting like a doofus in front of said jerk was somehow more humiliating than he knew it to be in front of anyone else. Lance decided to avoid that train of thought. He settled for observing the kitchen, and found it was mostly bare – barring a tray of ashy, black meat. The culprit.

As if this were a chance to redeem himself, Lance slipped on a disregarded pair oven-gloves and heaved the tray into the sink. It’d been a long time since he had to clean up a burnt meal but he was pretty sure he still knew the gist of things. Mullet twisted around to face Lance just as he tugged on the tap. Water plummeted down and steam erupted from the burnt disaster below, triggering a small coughing fit in Lance. Maybe not a great start.

“Are you trying to make it worse?” Mullet practically demanded, switching the tap off. He was trying to glare at Lance while fluttering his eyelashes rapidly against the air, and although he wasn’t as intimidating as he probably hoped to be it still made Lance hesitate. Impatient, Mullet reached into the sink, going at the tray. Lance’s hand wrapped around his and it pulled up between them with.

“And are _you_ trying to burn yourself? You have to cool the meat and tray down before you can doing anything else.” The dark-eyed man frowned at their hands and then straight at Lance. “But the meat should be fine now, so grab a plastic bag and we’ll bin it.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you can’t cook some, what, chicken?”

“Pork,” he corrected in a tone of impudence.

“Can’t even cook a basic meat, there’s no way you’ll know how to clean it up. So, like I said, I’m helping you now, ahh,” Lance paused, hoping for his neighbour’s name. When he only got a confused look in return, Lance began to gesture with his free hand to communicate what he wanted to know. Lance didn’t let a minute pass before he realised he had to lead by example, “The name is Lance?”

“Uh, no, I’m Keith.” Mullet replied, awkwardly shaking their still gripping hands. Lance removed his and rubbed both eyes with a heavy grown.

“I was introducing myself, Keithy-boy.”

“Oh, right,” Keith nodded, “right, yeah, _wait_. Keithy-boy?”

Lance let his lips dip into a small pout, “C’mon, don’t like it?”

“It’s so… you know what? I don’t care. Are you actually going to help me clean or what?”

“Of course, Keithy-boy, just find me those plastic bags.”

The pair immediately got to work on the removal of pork. At first they attempted to just lug the meat straight out of tray, only to find it totally stuck to the bottom. Lance, however much he was quickly growing to like Keith, couldn’t resist teasing him for not even knowing to at least put oil on the tray first. With lots of desperate prodding from an assortment of wooden and plastic utensils the pork finally separated from the tray, although it left a horrendous mess behind. It’s greasy, thoroughly-burned body was finally secured into a bag and into the bin, only when Keith promised to immediately throw it out.  

It took a copious amount of scrubbing and soaking to just take the tray back to an even remotely semi-decent look. To help the process along, Lance recreated a baking-soda focused formula his mum used on similarly burned trays. During a gap in the method Lance wrote the whole strategy for Keith’s future reference – something Keith had initially acted annoyed about, huffing about the sentiment behind the instructions, until he genuinely gave a little smile while skimming through Lances handwriting, and coincidentally giving Lance a small case butterflies.

Time flew past and soon enough there was nothing to be washed. There was one more task however, and when Lance told Keith they can chase the burnt stink out of the apartment Keith’s expression was – well, maybe Lance’s butterflies were getting too big, too fast.

“You can use some incense too, because it smells good, but we have to use white vinegar. It’s really overpowering and soon enough this place will smell like however it always did before.”

Keith sized up his cupboard for barely two seconds before his gaze focused on Lance again. “I don’t have any.”

“None at all?” Lance asked, moving to join him at the pantry, “Even though you yourself are full of vinegar?”

Keith gave him a dirty look before they both began to read label and after label and Lance briefly wondered how Keith had survived for so long. Lance ran his hand through his hair, suddenly exhausted. He didn’t know how else they could get rid of the stench, or if any method was as efficient. It wouldn’t hurt to look though, so he went to grab his phone out. As his soon as his hand toughed the fabric of his jeans he realised the device was back in his own apartment. Was it worth it to duck back over-

“Dude! I’m pretty sure I have some vinegar at mine, c’mon,” Lance practically yelled, already running out of the kitchen. Lance was quickly out of there and through his own doorway without pausing until he found his kitchen. Both Coran and Hunk were preparing what looked like a Christmas dinner with a lot less burning than Keith’s.

Lance was nose-deep in the pantry within seconds in search, but soon enough he realised there was no vinegar anywhere on the premises. By default his shoulders slumped and voice became mildly whiny, “I can’t believe we don’t a have a single bottle of white vinegar. Are we not even people?”

“What do you mean, no white vinegar?” Hunk asked, walking over. He peered into the shelves before moving two bottles aside then pulling the vinegar out, “Look, its right here. Why do you even need it?”

Lance took the bottle from Hunk’s grasp and smiled, “Mullet Boy is just short on some, is all.”

He tried walking back out at a normal pace this time but was still moving a tad too quickly, then waltzed back up Keith of whom whom had opted for waiting at the apartment’s entry. The dark-haired boy spotted Lance and smiled, “Hey, you actually had some.”

“Yeah! So, depending on how much you want just google the measurements and that’s all you need, should be a piece of cake.”

“Right… Seriously, thank you, Lance-“

“Get some, Lance!” Pidge grinned, popping out from who-knows-where and nodded at the space above the boys. With Pidge’s sudden commotion the other's appeared from around the apartment to find out what was happening, only to promptly join in on the hollering. Lance reluctantly glanced up then and found himself torn between regretful and absurdly grateful. The mistletoe still sat, plain as day, but somehow it felt more daunting than when he had hung it up. Looking back down at Keith, Lance wasn’t sure if he should laugh it off or go for it.

The two stared at each for so long it may as well have been a competition. Keith moved first, his then pleasant expression cracked and became exasperated. Lance tried to ignore the way his friends chanted, poking fun at his insistence of keeping to tradition, and focused on the way Keith’s brow crinkled as it had countlessly all evening. How a warm colour found itself decorating Keith’s cheeks, as Lance knew his own were being flooded by the shade.

“Lance, dude, seriously,” Hunk almost laughed, “Just kiss him, man.”

“Weren’t you the one saying you can’t not abide by the mistletoe laws?” Pidge smirked.

“Well, you know what, Pidge? If you get too cocky and step a mistle _toe_ out of line you’re gonna get wrecked, girl.”

“Hahah! Nice one, Lance!” Hunk cheered. 

“God, just-” Keith secured his hand around the collar of Lance’s shirts and forced him down, planting his lips against the Cuban’s. Lance’s attention was immediately and entirely on Keith. Everything became warm and engulfed him soundly with no room to breathe, to the point that he didn’t want to even consider stopping. The lingering smell of failed flames flavoured their lips bitterly in the sweetest way. Very soon two gently pull apart, breath mingling as if they hadn’t truly separated yet. “Was that so hard?”

Lance smiled at warmly before his mouth began moving on it’s own, “Yeah it was hard, if you know what-"

“We’re not doing that, Lance, it’s Christmas, do not finish that thought,” Coran warned, and Lance couldn’t help chuckling at how sharp he was. Allura knocked Lance on the head with a bauble for good measure and an unexpectedly loud snort from Pidge set the whole group into fits of laughter. As Lance watched Keith chuckle along with his friends, eyes crinkled and mouth wide, he realised that it’s gonna be wild year.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually reckon Lance'd be super into xmas idk why I wrote him as such a slacker gah
> 
> so!! this is my prezzie and i hope it's good enough because it probably isn't but hoping is a part of this season's agenda right? sure
> 
> Have a good klancemas!!
> 
>  
> 
> plus feel free to comment any grammatical/spelling mistakes or critical tips ~ cheers!


End file.
